CHAPTER VIII.
A Wood's Adventure.
From the night of Peter Many-Names' arrival at the sugar-camp, Dick hadyielded himself utterly to his dreams. Home, duty, Stephanie, all thishad become as a shadow before the wonder and delight which the thoughtof freedom held. And when the time came, he had shaken off all ties ofaffection, all thoughts of right and gratitude, and had turned north tothe country of his longings. At last, at last, the skies were blue forhim, the airs were fresh for him, the world was wide for him, he couldfollow where he would and none should call him back. Of probableconsequences he did not think. The struggle was over, and, though heknew he had chosen ill instead of good, the knowledge troubled himlittle. Was it not enough that the humdrum round of toil lay farbehind him, and that all before and on every side of the land was fairwith spring?
At the time he found it enough--enough to fairly intoxicate him withdelight. In this spirit he began his wanderings, and the days passedin golden dreams of beauty and of freedom. He followed in uttercontent wherever Peter Many-Names chose to lead, caring nothing so thathe might eat and sleep and dream and wander on again, guided by anystream that ran, any wind that blew. After a while he lost count oftime, lost count of distance, and was still content. Left to himself,he would have gone on thus indefinitely; but he was held by a keener,harder intellect than his own.
Peter allowed matters to go on thus for some days. He wascontemptuously fond of Dick, willing to indulge him to a certainextent. So for nearly two weeks they idled northwards through theawakening woods, killing for food as they required it, with the Indianto do all the hard work and bear most of the burdens.
They travelled in irregular zig-zags, choosing the drier ground, andhaving a good deal of difficulty owing to streams swollen with meltingsnow to angry little rivers. But Dick only saw the choke-cherry'swhite tassels trailing in the water, the white drifts clearing from thehollows and showing all the tender tangled green beneath, the delicategreen mist that showed upon the birch-boughs, and the young leaves thatreddened the twigs of oak and maple. He only heard the robinswhistling from dawn to dusk, the rush and patter of the suddensparkling showers, the rustlings and murmurs that showed the woods werefull of life about them. He ate what was offered him and slept wherePeter wished, dazed and enraptured. For two golden weeks the dreamendured. And then quite suddenly Peter Many-Names buckled down to thetrail.
The dream was roughly broken. Thereafter Dick had no leisure for thebeauties of the wilderness. After the day's march, he had onlystrength enough left to roll himself in his blankets and groan. Helived from dawn till dark in a stupor, not of delight, but ofweariness. His softer muscles were racked and tortured with manifoldaches, strained and swollen with the effort of the pace. And when hemoaned and lamented, Peter scowled at him horribly, and called him rudediscourteous names in the Indian tongue.
"Where are we going?" Dick would groan impatiently, at the end of atrying day. "What's the need of all this hurry?"
And Peter's contemptuous little dark face would flame with thatexcitement which Dick had seen in it that night in the sugar-camp, andhis voice would rise again to that wild mesmeric chant. "We are goingnorth, north, north!" he would sometimes answer; "north to the land ofclean winds and strong men, to the land of uncounted bison and wildfowl in plenty for the hunter! North to the land loved of itschildren, to my country! But what do you know of it? Is it not enoughfor you if I lead you there in ease and safety?"
"Ease!" poor wearied Dick would reply, "do you call this ease?" andthen would roll himself in his blanket and fall into the sleep ofexhaustion. Day after day this incident was repeated. For PeterMany-Names was merciless, and his tongue played round Dick's veryexcusable weaknesses with the stinging unexpectedness of a whip-lash.
But after a while Dick's muscles hardened. The day's march was nolonger torment to him. He grew almost as lean and wiry as his comrade,though he would never attain to the Indian's powers of endurance offatigue. And then the daring young pair proceeded amicably enough.
The dream had faded to a more real world, though the beauty of it stillremained. Dick's faculties and feelings awoke, though his consciencewas sleepy enough. His skill in woodcraft, his hunter's lore, all cameagain in play, and he and the Indian regarded each other as pleasantcompany, though the silence of the wilderness was rendering Dick aschary of speech as was Peter, and sometimes they scarcely exchanged adozen words in as many hours.
He never forgot Stephanie. When the first delight and excitement wereover, the thought of her troubled him daily, though as yet the charm ofwood-running held him a willing captive. Now and then came ugly littlepricks of conscience concerning his duty to his only sister, and tothose who had been such friends to him and his in the hour of need; butno glimmer had as yet come to him of a higher duty to One far highereven than these. And on the whole he was perfectly happy.
Yet he welcomed the opportunity that a chance meeting with a southwardbound trapper offered him of sending her a word of affection andpenitence; which, as we know, she received safely. After that he sawand spoke with no one, Peter seeming to avoid all other wanderers inthe wilderness. "No need to run away from man," he was wont toexplain, "but no need run after 'im. What you want with 'im? Nothin'.What he want with you? Nothin'. So all right. You come on, quick an'quiet."
Sometimes they came upon the cold ashes of a hunter's fire, now andthen upon a deserted Indian camping-place. But the stars and the clearskies and the calling winds, the trees and the bushes and the unseenstealthy life within their shadows, held undisturbed possession of allthings.
This same stealthy life was not always unseen. Sometimes Dick andPeter would come upon a battle royal beneath the calm spring dawn.Sometimes they were aware of quiet presences around their eveningfires. Sometimes they caught glimpses of great moving shapes,indistinct in the foliage, and knew that some forest lord was watchingthem. They had as yet contented themselves with whatever small gamecame most readily to hand, for Dick lacked the love of slaughter, andPeter Many-Names was apparently in a hurry, and turned aside as littleas possible.
Once that noiseless spirit of death, that was ever abroad in theforest, touched them more nearly. They had made their camp for thenight rather earlier than usual, owing to a slight mishap that hadbefallen Dick--a strained ankle, which, while not serious, made itimperative for him to have a long night's rest They watched dusk fallover the banks and glades all ablaze with the tall, purple wind-flowerof the north, they had seen the stars show softly, one by one, beyondthe branches of the trees, they had heard the even trickle of a tinyspring nearby interrupted by faint, faint sounds, as little wildcreatures, bold in their obscurity, came there to drink.
As night darkened down, and the flame of the camp-fire grew more brightand ruddy in consequence, the woods became more stealthily hushed. Fora moment, watching the gloom surrounding them--black, silent, yetgiving the listener an impression of teeming, hungry multitudes withinit--Dick's heart sank with a sense of isolation. On every side, forleagues, these forests lay. He felt a benumbing realisation of his ownloneliness, and of the smallness of man's aims and hopes whenconfronted with the impassive greatness of nature. What part had he inthis solemn wilderness, full of the things of the woods seeking theirmeat from God?
A sound like a heavy, dragging footfall broke the silence, and shookDick's somewhat troubled nerves, so that he nearly jumped out of hisblanket, in sudden, unconcealed fright. "What was that?" he criedinvoluntarily. And Peter responded with the nearest approach to ascornful giggle of which his dignity was capable. For it was only aporcupine taking a nocturnal walk, and not caring how much noise hemade, secure in his terrible quills. The thump--thump of his leisurelyprogress died away, and then the quiet was disturbed only by the criesof night-birds and those continuous, faint rustlings and murmurs whichseemed but a part of silence.
After dreamily listening and watching for a while longer, Dick dozedoff to sleep. But his slumbers w
ere not as peaceful as usual, owing,perhaps, to the slight pain in his ankle. And presently he was rousedagain--roused, not by any noise, but by a sudden and complete cessationof all the tiny sounds of the woods about them.
He had thought that the silence before had been deep; but now theintense quiet oppressed him like some palpable weight. He glanceddrowsily at the fire, which was low, and then across it to Peter'scrouching figure, indistinct in the shadows. Some thought of rousingthe Indian was in his mind. "But no, I won't do that," he said tohimself. "I 've been laughed at quite enough for one night, and it'sonly my fancy."
The hush was so great that he could hear the sound of the little breezeamong the leaves--so great that it seemed as if all life were held inbreathless suspension for a space--and it endured for some moments,broken at last by the frightened flutter of a bird roused from itssleep.
Then, as if this little frightened flutter of wings had been a signal,a dark, snarling shape launched itself from a low branch, and leapt,with a harsh cry, straight upon the Indian!
There was a yell from Peter; and then followed a second's fearfulrolling, snarling, grunting, worrying confusion in the shadows. But inthat second Dick had unsheathed his knife, cleared the fire at a bound,and leapt to the rescue.
No need to ask what was the assailant. Only one beast, "the devil ofthe woods," was capable of such an attack. And Dick's heart throbbedas he stood beside that frantic turmoil, lighted only by the uncertainflicker of the fire, and waited for a chance of getting in a thrust,fearing also, lest in striking the lynx, he should wound PeterMany-Names. But on the instant of thinking this, the chance came.Peter's unyielding hands were grasping the beast's throat, and as theyrolled over and over, its gaunt side was fully exposed for a moment,and Dick drove in the knife up to the handle.
So strong and true was the blow, that it ended the struggle, and theIndian was safe, though terribly scratched and torn. Indeed, if thesavage brute had not leapt short in the first instance, Dick's readyaid might have come too late, and there would have been an end of PeterMany-Names.
Dick laughed a little uncertainly when it was all over. "That was anarrow escape," he said, turning to assist Peter to his feet again.But the Indian had already shaken himself free from the dead lynx, andnow took the English boy's hand in his own, regardless of the pain ofhis wounds, as befitted a brave. He always spoke in his own tongue inthose rare moments when he gave way to emotion. And now he began along and dignified speech, the meaning of which was not difficult togather. "That's all right," Dick interrupted nervously, "you are notto say any more about it," though, as a matter of fact, he had notunderstood more than a few words of the rapid, musical oration.
Peter relapsed into his English. "You my brother now," he saidbriefly; "come danger, come death, come anything, my life yours. Mylife yours, my home yours, my horses yours, my people yours." He waveda lordly arm to the four points of the compass, and Dick suppressed alaugh. Peter's worldly wealth so evidently existed for purposes ofceremonial gratitude only. But the Indian felt that he had returnedthanks with proper dignity, and submitted in a sort of contented, stoicindifference while Dick roughly bound up the worst of his cuts andscratches.
Gratitude is a feeling somewhat difficult to awaken in the heart of theRed Man; but when once it is aroused, it is deep and binding. Theadventure with the "lucifee" was a fresh tie between the two lads, andthey proceeded on their way in greater good-fellowship than ever.
Through all the splendour of wild forest and deep ravine, Peter led theway, straight north-west, stopping for nothing. And so great was hisascendancy over Dick, that the English boy never questioned hisleadership, or even asked definitely where they were going. In thewilds the Indian was supreme, and his speed, endurance, and skill weredominant. Dick relied upon him almost blindly, and was content tofollow where he led.
The life at the homestead seemed a thing of the past, part of someother state of existence, so intense a hold had the wilderness uponDick's mind. But the thought of Stephanie was real and living, theonly point of pain in his present lot; and this pain he put aside asmuch as possible, together with all worry as to the future. "I made mychoice," he said to himself, "and there's an end of it. I know it waspretty hard on Steenie, but here I am, and what's the use of worrying?"Minds of his type are convinced of error only by stern measures, andDick showed a great deal of argumentative skill in assuring himselfthat he had been perfectly justified in escaping from the bonds ofhumdrum toil which had grown so unendurable. He knew that he hadproved himself weak and lacking in gratitude, nevertheless; but theknowledge had not yet touched his heart to any keener sense ofwrong-doing.
Straight northwestward they went, through gradually changing country,and all the subtle passage of the weeks was heralded to them by newflowers, new streams, new lands of wonder. The wild strawberriesripened, and the last violets died. The raspberry canes were heavywith fruit, and the spots where they grew best were much favoured bybrown bears, big and little. White lilies shone upon the pools and thestill reaches of the small rivers. And still, through all the shiftingmoods of the year, they hurried on, never resting, never turning aside,but always keeping up the same unvarying rate of speed.
Where was Peter Many-Names going? Dick did not know, and did not care.He had chosen his way of life, and now gave himself up to its delight.He only knew that the wilds he loved were very fair, that the weatherwas almost unbroken in its warm sunniness, that food was easily comeby, and that all things, great and small, made for happiness. Heseemed to be one with the clear blue Canadian skies, with the silverstars, with the free, beautiful things of stream and forest, with thevery blades of grass beneath his moccasined feet. The little owls, thegreat wood-peckers, the tiny songsters of the reeds and bushes, helooked upon as his brethren. He felt no return of the desolate ache athis heart he had experienced on the night of Peter's struggle with thelynx. His was that joyous fellowship with nature that knows noweariness, and he troubled himself as little as possible aboutStephanie. Not yet had his awakening come.
Straight northwest they went, through all the brief splendour of thenorthern summer; and the weeks passed in golden dreams of freedom andof beauty. And thus the year drew slowly, inevitably, to its close.